


the certainty of our unknown

by adagietto



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Mild Angst, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-29 02:26:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17194745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adagietto/pseuds/adagietto
Summary: The early hours of Boxing Day–two different occasions, separated by three years.





	1. I know I'm drunk again and I've said enough for the night / but there's a skin I'd like to steal / a house to sleep in where I won't have bad dreams

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my [Christmas] two-chapter mini-fic. I've missed writing but sadly, attending professional school has not afforded me any time to leisurely write...so I am using some of my Christmas break to write this little ditty, which would not let me sleep at night. Enjoy, my darlings.

Some three hours ago, she was in her mother's house, helping her mom and Casey tidy up the kitchen while Jordan, Kevin, and her sisters-in-law were handling the mess in the living room, not to mention the endless trail of wrapping paper remains left by her beloved nieces and nephews.

Tessa lets out a sigh–of relief or tiredness, she is not sure–she didn’t realize she was suppressing. Curled up against a blue velvet cushion on her pristine white sofa, she reaches for her festive mug and swallows a careful sip of her chamomile tea. She looks up at her tree adorned with white ornaments and takes in the moment.

 _This year has been a whirlwind_ , she muses silently to herself.

She finishes another chapter in her novel and reaches for her tea again only to be startled by the rapid consecutive dings of her doorbell, followed by exigent knocking and some muffled expletives. “ _Are you crazy? Shit. You’re going to scare her_ ,” she manages to make out before setting aside her mug and her book.

She moves aside the curtain to peek at her intruders. At the sight of two familiar faces, she relievedly exhales and pulls the sash of her plush white robe tighter over her black silk pajamas.

After releasing the lock and adjusting the knob, a gust of wind whips her face as she stares quizzically at her ice dancing partner of more than twenty years.

“Tess!” he raises his arms to the heavens enthusiastically, as if he is a welcomed guest arriving at a decent and definitely not showing up at her doorstep at nearly two in the morning. “I knew you’d be awake! Danny didn’t think so. See, Danny!” he about-faces to reproach his brother, while supporting himself on her door frame.

“Scott, you’ll wake up the neighbors!” she scolds him in a hushed tone.

His brother runs up her walkway, calling out. “I’m so sorry,” Danny shakes his head, his eyes full of apology, embarrassment, and disappointment. Tessa tries to speak but it comes out in a barely audible strangled sound which is interrupted by Danny continuing, “This maniac of a man almost killed us, grabbing the wheel and making us to turn onto your neck of the woods.”

Tessa glances at Scott who is looking behind her, into her house–for what exactly, she doesn’t know. She looks pointedly at Danny.

“We were having a few drinks over poker and this one over here practically ruined Christmas family game night and I tried to take him home but here we are,” Danny concludes.

“That explains the whiskey breath,” she mutters. _Isn’t this a serious case of déjá vu?_ This isn’t the first time a drunk and/or hungover Scott has shown up on a doorstep of hers. Nor is it the second or third time. Frankly, she has lost count.

“Way to be a fuckin’ tattletale, Danny,” Scott snaps. “I’m standing right here.”

“He wouldn’t tell us what’s bothering him but I’m guessing it has something to do with you...and that...girl he has been spending time with.” Danny scratches his head and kicks at the freshly fallen snow.

“I’m still fucking here, y’know?” he spits but doesn’t bother to look back at his eldest brother.

Tessa lightly slaps his chest, “The neighbors, you imbecile!” she talks under her breath. “You need to go home, Scott.”

She can feel his honey-hazel eyes sucking her in. “I want to stay. I didn’t get to celebrate Christmas with you. We need to make up for lost time.” He rubs her robe covered shoulder gently.

“He’s all yours, Tutu,” Danny salutes her and heads in the direction of where he parked in Tessa’s driveway.

She finally looks away from Scott’s eyes and attempts to protest, “But–” Danny is already opening the car door and hoisting himself into the driver’s seat.

“Here we go again,” she mumbles, grabbing Scott’s arm and pulling him inside, quickly closing the door behind him.

Scott shakes his head violently, causing snowflakes to fall and dissolve onto her newly polished floors.

She rolls her eyes, “Do you want hot chocolate or tea?”

“You know me too well, T,” he takes off his jacket and his boots, carefully placing his jacket into her coat closet and his boots on the rug near the door. “Hot chocolate would be nice.” _At least drunk Scott still knows where things belong._ She crosses her arms and conceals a pleased smile. _I’ve trained him well._

He follows her into the kitchen, his sock-clad feet dragging behind. He leans his elbows on the island counter with his head supported by his fists, watching her as she pours the hot water from her kettle into mug with a cartoon of a reindeer painted on the front.

“Scott, what is this? 2015?” she asks him rhetorically. She knows he is in need of some tough love. “You’re not a boy anymore. I thought we’ve been through this already.”

“I know, I know,” he whispers, his eyes glassy and examining the tiny scratches on her countertop. “I’m being stupid,” he fists his newly cut hair, which is frankly too short for her liking. “I always seem to rush into–you know–and I always end up…I wanted to get away from everything. I’m proud of us. I really am.  I love our success but it’s getting to be too much. Too much for me to handle. You deserve all the accolades, T. You do. I’m more proud of you than I am of myself and rightfully so. I–”

She cuts in, “I’m not going to stand here all night just to hear you babble about how you don’t deserve every bit of recognition as I am getting.”Her back faces him as she switches off the burner and places the kettle in the sink. She takes out a spoon from the flatware drawer and mixes in two heaping tablespoons of hot chocolate mix, just the way he likes it.

“It’s not that,” he swallows. He opens the refrigerator door and pulls out a can of whipped cream, forming a perfect swirl of a fluffy mountain atop the steaming chocolatey drink. He uses his index and middle fingers to wipe off the excess from the nozzle and slips them into his mouth.

Tessa’s eyes widen and dart to the ceiling. She dumps a handful of mini marshmallows to top off his whipped cream and pulls her robe tighter against her, scurrying back into the living room.

“Are you cold?” he calls after her, following close behind with his mug in hand.

“No,” she crosses her arms and plopping on her spot on the couch.

“I’m comfortable but maybe we should turn the heat up,” he suggests. The last time he used those last six words, he used them in a completely different context. She mentally laughs. _He probably doesn’t even remember._

“No, it’s–” her eyes find him poking at the buttons of her thermostat, “–fine.”

He inspects the numbers closely, and places his mug on the white coffee table. He curls up next her on the couch in a semi-fetal position and gently lays his head on her thigh. Her hand instinctually finds its way into his hair.

“Your hair is too short,” she comments.

“I was waiting for you to say that.” She can feel him smirk against her thigh.

“How was your vacation?” Her statements are too succinct, and Scott has a feeling as to why.

“I drank too much there. I drink too much here,” he responds tersely.

“How was she?” she asks in a whisper.

He doesn’t hesitate. “She’s not you.” His words seem to echo throughout the house, reverberating for a good minute before he speaks again. “Don’t think I forgot her abandoning me, leaving me partnerless.”

“Scott, that was so long ago,” she holds in a laugh.

“And I _never_ forget,” he moves aside the corner of her robe and kisses her thigh through the black silk. He reaches an arm to stroke down the length of her calf.

Her fingers work through the lines of his forehead as she tries to relieve the tension he holds there.

“It feels so good to be home for Christmas,” he says in a half-whisper.

She can hear the rhythm of his breathing even out before she quips, “Technically, it’s not Christmas anymore. It’s Boxing Day.”

“Tessa, Tessa, Tessa,” he tsks, “Have you ever heard of the _twelve_ days of Christmas?”

She finally stops holding back and releases a laugh. He tilts his chin upwards to catch a glimpse of her smile. They sit in silence and watch the flames dance in the fireplace. Her hand has moved to the back of his neck. She begins to feel a slight dampness on her leg.

“Scott,” she strokes a pressure point behind his ear.

“I’m sorry, Tess,” he inhales sharply, his lips covering the damp tear stains on her pants. She pushes aside the urge to wipe away his tears or dry them with the sleeve of her robe.

She maintains a neutral expression, her voice even. “Sorry for?”

“For everything,” he clears his throat before clarifying, “I’m sorry for everything. You deserve better. You deserve the best.”

“I know I do.” Her proverbial mask has returned to her face. She refuses to break.

He turns over on his back so that he can see her face. “I’m sorry you always have to put up with my shit. I never learn.”

“Sorry isn’t always enough, Scott,” her voice betrays her and quivers.

He sighs, his eyes closing tightly, “I know.”

She offers him excuses, “To be fair, we never actually talked about us.”

His voice replies firmly, “Still. There’s always an “us,” whether we like it or not. We always seem to have a penchant for not talking things out and just letting things happen.”

“Penchant?” she questions scrutinizingly, amusement in her tone.

“You like that word a lot,” he grins, his eyes still closed.  
  
“Do I?” she asks with genuine curiosity.

“Yeah, you used it at least ten times last month,” he states his evidence simply.

She bites back a smile as she stares back into the fire. She knows she probably should be furious. Perhaps she has run out of disappointment for the one man she knows inside and out. She doesn’t want to fight anymore. She is done fighting. If he wants her, he should be able to make that decision all on his own.

Scott curiously follows the line of her vision into the fireplace.

“Do you hate me?” he breaks the silence after a lengthy silence.

He can hear her exhale sharply through her nose. She briefly looks down to meet his eyes, “You know I could never hate you.” She licks her lips tentatively before asking, “Do you want me to drive you home?”

“You’re kicking me out. At this hour?” he huffs, an unmistakably _Scott_ mirth in his eyes.

“Hey,” she playfully flicks at his ear, “You’re the one who–”

“You and I both know I’m sleeping next to you tonight,” he interrupts.

A faintly smug grin forms on his lips. Tessa desperately wants to smack it off of his face but she hates that he is absolutely right.

She can’t help but notice how domestic they are when they fall into this routine in her bathroom. Looking at her reflection, she pats her face dry, closely inspecting a new spot of hyperpigmentation on her nose but finds herself distracted when Scott pulls his toothbrush from a drawer. Without a word, he squeezes a stripe of her toothpaste onto his toothbrush and begins brushing his teeth.

To stop herself from overthinking, she hurriedly finishes her nighttime routine and walks out of the bathroom and into her master’s bedroom. She hangs her white robe on its hook. She starts to move aside the throw pillows to the corner of the room, stacking them on the cozy loveseat. When he steps into the room, he silently opens her bottom drawer to retrieve a clean pair of his sweatpants and one of the t-shirts he keeps at her place. He changes in front of her. Tessa cannot prevent herself from stealing a few glances at him while she completes her task of turning down the bed covers. Scott switches off all the lights, leaving the lamp of Tessa’s nightstand as the only remaining light in the room.

He climbs onto his side of the bed. Tessa is still standing next to her preferred side, fluffing her pillows. As soon as she is satisfied, she sits on the bed and scoots herself in. Before she reaches to turn off the light, Scott lays his hand on her arm.

“Wait, Tess. I need to ask you something.” His voice is firm but gentle. Tessa can feel the shift in the mattress as he adjusts his position closer to her.

She directs her attention towards him, nervous and a little bit confused. One of his hands caresses her upper arm and meanders its way up her shoulder and her neck. His other hand combs through the ends of her hair before settling on her blushing cheek, his thumb stroking over her soft skin. She forces herself to lift her gaze only to see Scott’s eyes closed. Like the fastest flash of lightning, his lips meet hers, molding over hers like a potter’s hands over clay.

A visceral feeling grabs hold of her and she involuntarily melts against him. Her hands slide up his chest and around his neck as she tries to commit the feel of him to memory. Her fingers comb through his hair, and she longs for the thick, mussed strands he used to have.

His hand, which was once her cheek, is now cradling the back of her head. His other hand is wrapped around her back and begins to trail lower and lower until he pulls her closer and onto his lap. His lips continue to mingle with hers in a soft harmony, deliberate and unrushed.

Tessa pulls back suddenly. “Scott, no,” she manages to whisper after drawing in a breath.

“ _No_? I wanted to–” he pants, his mind hazy and his eyes blinking slowly.

“We need time,” she runs a hand through her hair repeatedly, almost exasperatedly. “You need time. I need time.”

His hands lazily squeeze her arms, “I have to stop running full speed ahead into everything.”

She nods. They stare at each other without blinking for a long moment. She wavers back and forth in her mind before quickly placing a chaste kiss on his lips. “Goodnight, Scott.” She finally switches off the lamp and lays on her side facing away from him.

“Night, Tess.” He leans over her to place a kiss on her shoulder before creating space between them.


	2. These problems are familiar, these songs that I've been singing for / God, it feels like years

Three years later

 

He recalls another Christmas when he wasn’t there to celebrate with her. Really, it makes him cringe thinking about it. He shakes his head. He has never been the best at timing. He can picture her with her characteristic stern expression, her arms crossed and her brow furrowed. That look always makes him swallow hard. He knows he is in trouble when he sees that picture, her hip cocked to one side and her translucent sea green eyes penetrating into his soul. It’s intimidating, yes but it’s also _so fucking adorable_. The smallest of smiles curves on his lips and disappears within an instant.

Once again, he brings the small glass of dusty-honey liquid to his lips. It’s the same melancholy burn that travels down into the depths of his throat. _I really shouldn’t be drinking this stuff_. _Nothing good comes of it._ He stares at his empty glass and sees that faint reflection of one of the televisions. He wipes his brow with his sleeve. _Great_. _Put it in the record books_ –y _et another Christmas in which he has disappointed her._

“Another, sir?” asks the bartender–a tall, pretty blonde with a perky ponytail and a shy smile.

“No, thanks,” he pushes the empty shot glass a few centimeters away from him. “Do you mind changing the channel?”

She gives him a quick nod and repeatedly presses a button on the remote, watching her patron until he motions with his hand to stop at a certain station.

“Shouldn’t you be with your folks and celebrating?” she asks unexpectedly while Scott is absorbed by the message of the reporter on the television.

“I wish,” he mutters. His words comes out more brusquely than he had intended. “I shouldn’t have stupidly postponed my earlier plans.”

She tucks a stray hair behind her ear and glances at him after another gentleman leaves her generous tip and waves a thank you and goodbye.

“Sorry. You must be anxious to get home,” she attempts to sympathize with him while busying herself, cleaning the counter.

“You could say that,” he smacks his lips together, eyes still glued to the television.

“Where is home for you?” she begins drying some glasses with a rag.

“I’m trying to get to London,” he sighs, shuffling his empty shot glass on the counter between his hands.

“Did you have a good time here in Montreal?”

“I work in Montreal,” he explains shortly. At this point, Scott does not care to carry on this conversation and just wants to sulk in silence.

“I see,” she blinks.

He turns his wrist over to check the time, “It’s almost a few hours until Christmas is over. I guess I better give my family a call and wish them a Merry Christmas.”

“Don’t do that!” she exclaims and it startles him. “You’re only adding sadness and disappointment to an otherwise joyful holiday.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” he mumbles under his breath.

“I know you’re frustrated because of the weather,” she says in an understanding tone, nodding at the weather report on the screen. “You could be in for a Christmas miracle. Stay positive.”

“Easier said than done,” he exhales audibly. He takes out his phone and internally debates with himself whether or not he should send his already-typed text message.

She taps her fingernails on the counter and narrows her eyes at him. “Your lady wouldn’t want a text message wishing her Merry Christmas. She would want to be wrapped up in your arms and whispering those words in her ear.”

Scott looks up from his phone, his eyebrows knitted together. “How would you know?”

With a warm, knowing smile, she shrugs her shoulders. “I know that’s how I would feel if I was waiting on a significant other. Am I right? Have you got a girl waiting for you?”

“Has anyone ever told you, you have a knack for reading people?” he raises an eyebrow.

“In fact, I have,” her smile reaches her eyes, “It’s the reason why I’m studying psychology.”

For the first time, he genuinely smiles. “I know someone who studied psychology too. My–” His cell phone rings, leaving his sentence unfinished. “Excuse me,” he hurriedly utters and answers the call without checking the caller ID.

“Scott, if you’re still at the airport, you are more than welcome to spend Christmas with Marie and Billie-Rose and I,” he hears.

Scott shuts his eyes tightly, the creases at his outer corners appearing more prominent. His disgruntlement is evident on his face. “Thanks, Patch, but I think I’ll stick it out here just in case the delays end.”

“Make sure to wish Tessa a Merry Christmas for us!” he hears Marie yell in the background.

He pinches the bridge of his nose, “I will.”

“Merry Christmas, Scott,” Patrice says. “Make sure to call us when you have arrived safely.”

“Send my love to Billie-Rose,” he responds before hanging up the call. He redirects his attention to the bartender, “What do I owe you?”

“Don’t worry about it,” her hand looks as if she is chasing away imaginary flies.

“Are you sure?” his brows furrow in a tentative expression.

“It was only one measly shot. Plus, I got plenty of tips this whole week.”

Being the generous soul he is, Scott doesn’t take no for answer and persists until she takes his money and a few extra dollars for tip.

He steps down from his stool and gathers his bags before asking, “Don’t you have folks to celebrate with?”

“I don’t have anyone special to go home to, and all my folks are in the States,” a beat passes between them. “I hope you get home safely, sir. Merry Christmas.”

“You too. Merry Christmas and happy new year.” He slings his backpack on his shoulder and trudges toward the large screen of flight times, dragging his carry-on luggage behind him.

 

* * *

 

More than seven hundred kilometers away, Tessa is in her family room, laying haphazardly on the dark gray sectional. Her books have been kicked aside, long forgotten now as she continues to stare mindlessly at the television. The fire she had started after lunch in the living room fireplace has died. She didn’t have the energy to keep feeding the flames. The glimmer of hope that he just might make it in time for Christmas is slowly fading away as she listens again and again to the same words of the weatherman, about how the snowstorm is supposed to continue into the morning. She spent the early afternoon in her mother’s house with her siblings and their families but left early in time to be home, granted that he would arrive on time. Her mom begged her to stay for the opening of the gifts but she had refused.

Earlier this week, she made sure to finish approving the designs for the spring collection so she could have all the time in the world to spend the holidays with him. Her hot chocolate on the glass coffee table is now cold. She touches the home button on her phone. She must have refreshed the page of his flight status over a hundred times now–but no update. She reaches for the folded throw blanket and spreads it over her. She looks around the room, at all her hard work of hanging decorations and making the house feel as festive as possible but having no one to share it with at the given moment. She faintly chuckles to herself at the thought of him drunk on her doorstep. She can laugh about it now. She would give anything in the world to have him in her arms right now, sober or not. Her eyelids feel heavy and she succumbs to sleep, the buzz of the television serving as her lullaby.

A few hours later, Scott turns his key in the lock and carefully opens the door. He grabs hold of his carry-on and his backpack and sets them down without a sound before closing the front door and double-locking it. He sees a Christmas tree decorated in gold right by the door, next to the staircase. He quietly removes his shoes and his jacket, tucking them neatly in the closet. He peeks into the living room, where another Christmas tree stands, decorated with white ornaments to match her white couch. He moves further into the house and the soft glow of another Christmas tree, decorated in red and this time in the family room, catches his eye. The television is set to the weather channel and flickers, casting light on the woman whom he has been searching for. He walks around the glass table and drops to his knees. He leans his elbows on the free edge of the cushion, circumspect not to wake her.

“I’m home, T,” he barely whispers. His bloodshot eyes travel over her peaceful, sleeping form from her dark hair over her long eyelashes, her pouty pink lips, the smooth line of her neck, and her delicately proud collarbones.

He stands and ever so carefully pushes his hands under her body and lifts her closer to the couch cushions. He adjusts the blanket over her and lays himself gingerly next to her, holding his breath in the process. Tessa shifts in her sleep and turns over to face the couch, away from him. A corner of her blanket falls off her frame. Scott softly kisses her shoulder before replacing the blanket over her.

An hour passes, and Tessa turns over on her other side. She stretches her legs out but her feet are stopped by a barrier. She opens her eyes halfway once she comes to her senses, feeling someone steadily breathing into her hair.

She yelps and pushes the body away from her and a “boom” fills the house when the body falls to the floor.

“Ow,” Scott yells, his hand rubbing the back of his head. “Tess! Why’d you push me?”

“Scott! I’m so sorry,” she blurts, sitting up on the couch and cradling his head. “Should I get some ice? I’m sorry, my poor baby.” She moves his hand out of the way and kisses his head at the tender spot.

“No, s’okay,” a grin playing on his lips. She pats his shoulders and returns to her reclined position on the couch. He lays next to her again, his large hands encircling her waist and bringing her closer and closer until there is no space in between them. She winds her arms around his neck, ducking her head under his chin.

“I’m a day late but Merry Christmas, T,” he palms her hip bone through the oversized sweatshirt she is wearing. “I really wanted to celebrate with you. I shouldn’t have cancelled my flight on the twenty-third. I was so worried about our progress but one more day of training didn’t seem to make a difference. I was ready to rent a car and drive for six hours if the delay didn't end.”

“I’m just glad you’re home now,” she mumbles into his shirt.

He wipes a hand down his face. “I don’t think my team will be ready in time for nationals.”

“I’ve been watching the videos you sent me,” her breath tickles his neck. “They seem ready to me.”

“Maybe I’m being picky,” he offers.

“Not everything is going to be perfect right away,” she states like a sage, “ _We_ weren’t.”

“We were pretty damn close,” he brushes his lips against her hairline.

She muffles a laugh in response.

Not wanting to talk about work, he changes the subject. “I happen to remember on this very day, Danny drove me–”

She interjects, “He said you grabbed the steering wheel. You two could’ve been in an accident.”

“It was a blustery, snowy night just like last night.”

“More like early morning,” she snorts.

He smiles at her hair's strawberry aroma, “I was drunk but not completely wasted–”

“I should’ve slammed the door in your face and left you there to freeze,” she lazily pokes his chest with a finger.

“I wouldn’t have blamed you if you did,” he squeezes her waist.

“I was too nice,” she humphs.

He is filled with belly-shaking laughter now. “When we woke up the next morning, we were practically tangled in each other even though I left a good amount of space–”

She rolls onto her belly and leans on her elbows. “I should’ve made you sleep on the floor,” her impossibly light green eyes bore into his.

“I would’ve deserved it,” he admits, staring at the star-like projections of light on the ceiling from the Christmas tree, accentuated by the shadowy room.

“And you had the nerve to kiss me!” she speaks vehemently, rolling her eyes.

“Not one of my best ideas but _you_ didn’t seem to mind at first,” his hands wander down the sides of her sweatshirt.

She leans down to pass her lips over his in a soft but sweet kiss.

“You kissed me afterwards _just like that_ ,” he reminisces, "but you were right. We needed time...and look at us now." They search one another’s eyes in comfortable silence until Scott smirks, “Do you know what I missed when I was at Gadbois?”

“Hmm, what?” she smooths a hand over his chest, over his flannel shirt.

“I missed,” he lowers his voice, “having breakfast in bed.”

He looks down and notices her press her thighs together. “I missed that too,” she whispers before swiping the strands of hair that fall over his eyes.

One of his hands finds the silky fabric under her sweatshirt. “I see you’ve gotten my present.”

“I love the color,” she says before he slowly grabs the hem of her [his] Moir Skate Shop sweatshirt, pulling it off and revealing the emerald green silk slip with a chantilly lace bust. He rubs her bare back in circles and breaks the shortlived quiet, “I’m sorry I missed Christmas...again.”

“My _, my, my_ Mister Scott Moir,” she says with an unmistakable twinkle in her eye. “Have you _ever_ heard of the twelve days of Christmas?”

He scoffs at hearing his own words thrown back at him and immediately outstretches his hands to the back of her thighs. She squeals at his touch and bursts into fits of laughter, sounding like liquid gold pouring into his ears. She promptly grabs hold of his hands and chokes out, “Speaking of the twelve days of Christmas,” she hastily leaves her spot on the couch and walks over to the tree and returns, sitting on her heels with a small box in her hand, “I wanted to give you your gift now.”

“Aw, Tess,” he simpers, “We can open gifts later. I want you all to myself right now.” He punctuates his sentence by pressing his lips in between her breasts.

She stands up, her posture perfect. “Please,” her eyes plead, “I really want you to open this one.”

“Okay,” he stands up as well and runs a hand through his unruly locks. He cautiously removes the silver ribbon and tears away the cranberry colored wrapping paper. He glimpses at Tessa looking intently at him before he removes the top of the box. “Wait,” he says, stopping his hands.

“What?” Tessa asks tensely.

“I need to do this right,” he says in a serious manner before clearing his throat and singing, “On the _second_ day of Christmas–”

Tessa cannot prevent herself from exuberantly smiling.

“–my true love gave to me,” he removes the cover of the box with a flourish, “two little mittens?” He takes the small knitted mittens in one hand and examines them closely and then looks at Tessa, a baffled look on his face.

Tessa’s eyes begin to flood in a luminous glow of happiness, and her two hands rest over her nose and mouth.

“Does this mean?” Scott inhales suddenly, moon-eyed.

She nods and manages to sniffle out in a sob, “Congratulations, Daddy.”

All the muscles in his legs give out, and his honey eyes glaze over in utter euphoria. He looks up at Tessa, who has the most elated of tears streaming down her pretty face. He buries his face in her abdomen and wraps his arms tightly around her hips, rocking her gently from side to side.

“We have to celebrate,” he wipes his face with his sleeve and finds the strength in his knees to stand up again. He sweeps her up in his arms in one fluid motion, and carries Tessa out of the family room and up the stairs, while she laughs and cries simultaneously–his favorite sound in the entire world. He lays her on the bed as if she is fragile and nuzzles her abdomen, peppering it with kisses. “No wonder you look especially beautiful,” he smiles from ear to ear. His hands play with the hem of her slip. “By the way, _this_ looks so beautiful on you.”

“Gorgeous green?” she gives him a wink.

He leans over her body and whispers in her ear, “You’ll never let that go, will you?” He grabs the back of his collar to remove his shirt over his head and steps out of his pants, throwing them casually onto the floor.

Tessa’s laugh fills in the room but dissipates when Scott’s hands begin pulling the slip dress up and off her body.

“It looks amazing on but still looks better off,” he says only loud enough for her to hear and pauses for a moment to appreciate her in all her glory. He hoists himself onto the bed and hovers over her. “You’re going to be the most adorable pregnant woman the world has ever seen. Our kid is going to be a stunner. How lucky am I?”

“Are you going to keep staring and talking all day?” she raises an eyebrow.

He shakes his head, “I want to take my time. I need to make sure you taste the same.”

“And if I don’t?” a glint of mischievousness twinkles in her eyes.

“We have to find out first, my darling. Patience.” He pulls down the lace from her hips.

She lets out a frustrated moan which makes Scott’s chin elevate to look up at her. Maintaining her gaze, he lowers his lips to her navel and leaves a trail of fire as he begins his descent. She tastes both bitter and sweet like her favorite label of cherry wine. He savors her until she fights for air.

“I love you, Mrs. Virtue-Moir,” his voice tickles her inner thigh.

She gasps sharply before panting, “I love you too.”

He surely missed having breakfast in bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back on my fluff b.s. 
> 
> twitter: @_adagietto
> 
> Sometimes, I sit and wonder why the heck anyone would want to read anything I write. Thank you in advance for reading, leaving kudos, and commenting. I crave comments like Tessa Virtue craves poached eggs and Lindt chocolate.
> 
> Happy New Year, my darlings! Here's to 2019. *cheers*

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Gord Downie's "Christmastime in Toronto". Chapter titles are from Car Seat Headrest's "Boxing Day".
> 
> I apologize for leaving Age Like Wine unfinished and leaving comments unreplied. I am not sure what I am going to do with that fic as of yet.


End file.
